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｡･:*:★,｡･:*:･☆LILAC EVANS (tw: suicidal thoughts, depression, drug abuse/addiction...but they're ok at the end dont worry)
I WASN'T FINE. NOT EVEN IN the slightest—but some part of me hoped that it all would just go away if I pretended like it wasn't even there. I felt like some imposter inside of my own body—like I wasn't even real anymore, like I had no control over what was happening around me and to me. How was I supposed to explain this feeling to Spencer? He couldn't possibly understand me, nor could he possibly fix me. He couldn't do anything for me, so why would I let him in? Why would I just make him fix me when I knew I couldn't be fixed? It was like venturing through a desert without any destination.
But he was so persistent. Annoyingly persistent, especially when he had his own little issues that I knew about. Who did he think he was, telling me what to do when he hasn't even helped himself yet? And maybe, I had no right to be angry at him, but I was. My emotions were all over the place, and anger was the least painful option. I wanted to be mad at Spencer, lash out at him until I felt better at myself. But...it didn't make me feel better. Hurting the one man who's been there for me through all of this, didn't make me feel better about anything.
Hurting Spencer didn't make me feel better, and yet here I was. Using him. Having sex with him this morning—it wasn't out of love. It wasn't because I loved Spencer. It was because I needed a distraction, and there he was. To distract me.
I felt disgusted with myself for what I did. And even worse, he didn't even know. I knew that because I heard him say those three words in the spur of the moment—I love you. It wouldn't have just come out like that if he didn't mean it. He did mean it because he was thinking about it...while I was just, using him for my own pleasure.
I was just digging myself a deeper hole. I wasn't coping, I wasn't getting better—all of this was only adding to my pain, and I didn't know how to make it stop. One moment I was fine, the next I wasn't. One moment I was happy with Spencer, the next I've just chased him away.
I sat in the hotel room alone after he left. I didn't do anything, just laid in bed and stared at the empty spot beside me—the outline of his body where he laid was still there, imprinted in the sheets. I regretted yelling, getting angry—I missed him already. I knew he had to go to work but I felt so neglected. It was selfish of me. I was so selfish.
It was like something was ruining me from the inside, slowly and painfully. I couldn't do anything but let it all happen—I couldn't stop thinking, thinking, thinking. All I could see was the way I'd killed someone. All I could see was my dad, my sister, my mom—they all haunted me like ghosts. I was so exhausted but too afraid to close my eyes and relive any of it again.
